


Won't you hold me steady

by sengele



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Bodily Fluids, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Choking, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Hux POV, If you squint there's cuddling, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Bottom Kylo Ren, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, They need help tbh, Top Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sengele/pseuds/sengele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And so, Kylo Ren keeps returning time after time, storming into the General’s quarters far too late at night, fingers twitching with whatever turbulent emotion he can’t contain, the kind that makes him want to tear things apart in blind rage, the kind that needs to be fucked away.<br/>And Hux keeps feeding his need, so really, maybe it’s his own damn fault that it’s come this far, but when something as trivial as self-loathing can easily be drowned in amber liquor and cigarette smoke, what's he got to lose?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't you hold me steady

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first contribution to this beautiful disaster of a trash ship.  
> It's basically shameless and smutty self-indulgence, and also an exploration of how they both have more issues than Vogue and how (poorly) they deal with them. 
> 
> Title is from "Spectacular Rival" by George Ezra.

Hux tells himself that this will be the last time, just like he did the time before, and the one before that. How it really started he isn’t sure, it’s all a blur at this point, too many bruises and sleepless nights ago, and he can’t bring himself to care, not when Kylo Ren is on his knees in front of him, slurping obscenely around his cock like he was made for it.  
_Not a trace of finesse_ , Hux thinks, but it’s always urgent and hungry between them. There are no gentle kisses and caresses. That's not what this is, and Hux knows that he delights entirely _too much_ as he threads his gloved fingers through Kylo’s dark locks and pushes him, forcing him to take his cock down his throat.

Later, days from now even, when he’s trying to sleep, he will feel so utterly pitiful for grasping at whatever power he can possibly hold over the force-user.  
He’ll remember the way his cock twitches at the wet choking noises as he fucks his mouth, and he’ll feel somehow worse.  
For now, he just pulls him off completely to get a good look, and Kylo lets him tug him by the hair, a string of saliva stretching between his lips and Hux’s cock. The hand in his hair slides to cup his jaw, and a leather-clad thumb traces his cheekbone. Kylo exhales deeply and leans into the touch, never breaking eye contact. Even like this, on his knees with his cheeks stained wet, he still looks _wild._

Kylo’s lips are swollen from the sucking, glistening wetly with saliva dribbling down his chin and pooling onto the floor. Hux wants to force him down and make him clean it up with his tongue.  
There’s a maroon smear of drying blood from his nose, where Hux punched him after Kylo had bitten his lip, leaving a mark. It only seemed fair.  
Kylo stares back up at Hux, breathing hard and his pupils are blown, eyes dark as the void. Like this, naked and gloriously ruined on the floor, Hux let’s himself admit that he’s captivating. Kylo lets out a low whine as Hux presses the sole of his boot Kylo’s straining erection, and he rubs himself against it as well as he can, but what little friction he gets won’t be enough.

Nothing ever really is with him. 

And so, Kylo Ren keeps returning time after time, storming into the General’s quarters far too late at night, fingers twitching with whatever turbulent emotion he can’t contain, the kind that makes him want to tear things apart in blind rage, the kind that needs to be fucked away.  
And Hux keeps feeding his need, so really, maybe it’s his own damn fault that it’s come this far, but when something as trivial as self-loathing can easily be drowned in amber liquor and cigarette smoke, what's he got to lose?

“On the bed,” Hux orders, and _fuck_ , does it ever feel good to tell him what to do and watch him actually obey for once. If only it happened more frequently, but he knows there's no hope of taming him. Simply wishful thinking, no doubt.  
General Hux does plenty of that.

\--

When they fuck, Kylo always presses as close as physically possible, as if he’s starving for touch.  
Anything to ground him in the moment, be it messy kisses with clashing teeth, or fingers greedily raking over skin, like he’s trying to tear it bloody just to feel more of that real human warmth against his body.  
Hux has never been that fond of such intense physical closeness, but propped up against the headboard and with the way Kylo’s riding him hard, one hand on his shoulder, nails digging into flesh, the other on the wall above Hux’s head for support, he lets it slide.

Where Hux is control and composure, Kylo decidedly is not, biting his lower lip hard, eyes glazed over beneath heavy lids as he rolls his hips. Hux grips his thigh with a promise of bruises to come. His gloves are gone, discarded with the rest of his clothes.  
Sometimes, Hux will deliberately keep them on, withholding the feeling of his bare hands, until it gets Kylo overwhelmed and frustrated. Both of them have their ways of making the other work for it.  
Tonight, however, their hunger won, easily crushing whatever illusions there might have been, turning otherwise steadfast resolutions into hitched breaths and mind-numbing intensity as they crash into each other yet again.  
  
Hux's other hand sneaks up to wrap around the slender column of Kylo’s pale throat and he squeezes.  
He leans back and their eyes meet as he tightens his grip, making Kylo’s eyes roll back into his head, mouth falling open as he chokes out a sob, hips stuttering erratically. Hux fucks up into him a dozen more times and that's what it takes to have Kylo coming hard with a broken cry, Hux following shortly after.  
Kylo slumps down against him, dead weight sprawled on top of his body.

\--

They've shifted further down the bed, Hux insisting on being semi-comfortable if Kylo intends to crowd him like this. Even though his body is still humming with soreness and afterglow, he still feels the subtle but characteristic warmth creeping up the back of his neck, like a phantom hand, and he is unable to suppress the shiver that rolls through him.  
"The only time your mind is this peaceful is when we've fucked," Kylo comments lazily, breath warm and annoyingly moist on Hux's neck. Nonchalant, the bastard, as if going through people's thoughts is well within his rights.  
At the very least his voice sounds thoroughly _wrecked_. Hux delights.  
"I told you to stay out of my head, _Ren_ ," he sneers, but there's no real heat to his words and Kylo presses somehow closer.  
"I know."  
Hux wants to push him off.

If it had been somebody else here with him, it would be so easy to mistake this for a moment of tenderness. But this isn’t somebody else, it’s Kylo Ren, of all people, and every now and then Hux has to remind himself not to get too comfortable. That’s why he freezes when he realizes that he's been running his hand up and down Kylo's back, fingertips ghosting over still sweat-slick skin. So much for his immaculate control, and he knows it's going to haunt him.  
Silence, then a huff of annoyance from the younger man. "Why did you stop? It felt nice."  
When Kylo doesn't receive an answer he gets impatient and Hux feels fingers digging into his side, blunt nails biting into skin.  
Hux rolls his eyes and smacks him over the back of his head.  
“Don’t be greedy.”  
Kylo snorts.  
Hux doesn't see the smile; he just feels it against his neck.  
He doesn't push him off.

\--

In the morning, when Hux wakes up to an empty bed, he feels hollow and relieved all the same.  
His body, as well as his conscience, is littered with bite-marks and bruises, some from the night before, some of them older. As he showers, he touches a new set of still-almost-fresh nail marks raked from his shoulder down his chest, and he tells himself that this really was the last time. Just like he did the time before, and the one before that. A piss-poor excuse that’ll surely bite him in the ass sooner or later.  
Maybe it already has.


End file.
